


Bipartisanship

by Roscavenbar



Category: 21st Century CE RPF, Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: 2012 United States Election, Bromance, Crack, Crack Pairing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Bromance, Fleecekink, Hurricane Sandy, Inspired by Real Events, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roscavenbar/pseuds/Roscavenbar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adversity can bring people together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

By anyone's standards anywhere, Chris Christie was having a terrible motherfucking week. Billions of dollars of damage, a few million people without power, dozens of people dead. And that little prick from Fox News - Doocy by name and douchey by nature - asking when Romney would show up in New Jersey and what Sandy was going to do to his campaign. Like THAT was troubling Christie's mind at the time. He'd had about five hours sleep and zero changes of clothes over the past three days, and he'd bitten Douchey's smug little head off. Everyone had just eaten it up. The asshole schtick could come in useful. 

"Cocksucker," Christie muttered now as he heaved himself out of the car, trying to get some of the profanity out of his system before he met the President. The guy might have been a boob, and he was definitely a Democrat, but he'd been on the phone as soon as NOAA saw that huge fucker heading straight for the coast. "Governor Christie, how are you preparing for the storm? I've signed the emergency declaration. You have my number now - call me directly if you need anything." And then at landfall he'd been there, and all through that horrible night. "Governor, you're on the ground, how do things look? What federal resources do you need now? How do we get New Jersey back up and running, Chris?" And FEMA had been there. You had to give credit where credit was due, and Obama had actually come through for Christie's state. 

And there he was coming down the steps, and fuck me running, Christie thought, he'd dressed down too. Didn't want to wear a suit and make me look like even more of a schlub. Like I haven't taken enough shit for this fucking fleece already. Obama shook Christie's outstretched hand, and clapped him on the back. His warm breath brushed Christie's ear. "Good to see you, man."

Christie felt as if he'd grabbed hold of one of the downed power lines instead of the President's hand. His head spun - the hell? - while under the blue fleece his skin tingled and burned where the President had touched him, and Christie realized exactly where all the blood that had rushed away from his head was going. He stumbled briefly before catching himself. The press had never made any secret of how much they coveted a shot of old Krispy Kremes falling on his ass. Not this time, guys, but fuck, _fuck_ , Obama had noticed and was steadying Christie with his hand. 

"Must have been a rough few days. I don't envy you." The President's smile was gentle and sad. Understanding. That was pretty classy, Christie thought. Christie had a fair idea of what a Presidential campaign was like - he'd done his homework back when everyone had money on Romney picking him or Rubio - and he knew Obama wasn't exactly getting seven hours either. 

"Yours can't have been better," said Christie. "Although _you_ probably got showers and clean clothes at least." He indicated his fleece. 

"Been wearing this a while then?" Obama asked, reaching out a hand to touch it. As he stroked the fleece, Christie's heart started to pound - oh shit, did Obama feel that? - and he gulped as color flooded into his face. Christie wasn't - he didn't - he'd never been into men. And if he'd been into men, he wouldn't be into soft, liberal, bookish, effete pussies like the man in front of him. The man who was smiling down at him and caressing his fucking back, and for a guy who wasn't into men there was one hell of a situation in Christie's pants right now. 

They walked to the helicopter, Christie voluble, talking nineteen-to-the-dozen about FEMA and the power situation and how it would probably be better to just buy up a lot of the ruined homes and take the opportunity to develop and invest rather than rebuild, and maybe the federal government could help out with some of that, and Obama nodding solemnly and listening. Every so often Obama's hand would brush his and his skin would prickle and shit, he really needed sleep. 

Marine One was plush by naval-helicopter standards, but tiny by things-meant-to-accommodate-Chris-Christie standards. Sitting down opposite Obama, their knees brushed together. Christie's dick twitched hopefully, and he leaned forward and hoped to God the stupid fucking fleece covered it.

But the flight over New Jersey drove all thoughts out of Christie's head except for the wreckage of his beloved state. The damage on the ground was bad enough of course, but every time he saw it from up here it destroyed him all over again, no matter how many times he flew over it. The beaches, all underwater. The boardwalks, smashed and destroyed. Thousands of trees, gone. Houses flooded, roofless, still burning, ruined. The piers, the parks, the coaster in the water and that sausage and peppers stand completely gone. Christie had always traded on his reputation as a blowhard asshole who didn't give two fucks about anything, but he'd grown up right here on the Jersey shore, and he loved his home. And look at it now...Christie's eyes filled with tears and he hurriedly swiped them away with his hand. More tears came. Shit. 

He felt a touch on his knee. Obama was looking at him with those dark, kind eyes. 

"We're gonna rebuild it, Chris. Fix it all. We have the money, we have the people. It's gonna be all right. New Jersey's tough. _You're_ tough. Jersey Strong."

Christie blinked away the tears. "Every time I see it like that..."

"I know, Chris. I know. Believe me, if Chicago got hit like that, I'd cry too. New Jersey's in your heart, Chris. Your soul."

And Obama gently brushed a tear from Christie's cheek with a finger, and took both of Christie's hands in his own. 

Christie broke down entirely, sobbing his heart out for poor, broken New Jersey, and oh the shame of it, crying like a baby in Marine One in front of the fucking President, who was always so calm and collected even when he clearly didn't have a clue what he was doing, who Christie had always thought was an idiot, but who had been so together and _resolved_ all through this fucking storm. The fucking President who was now kneeling on the floor of his personal helicopter, taking the distraught Governor in his arms and holding him close as he wept, rocking him and rubbing his back in small circles. 

"It's OK, Chris," came the deep murmur in his ear.

"Fuck me, so embarrassing," Christie whispered through his tears. 

"Anyone here says anything, I'll have them killed," Obama whispered back, and Christie managed a small watery laugh.

"That's better," murmured Obama, and Christie felt the soft lips and tongue on his cheek, touching where his tears flowed, tasting them. Tasting _me_ , Christie thought, and the realization that the President had in fact just _kissed_ him sent a bolt of undeniable lust surging through his body. Christie pulled Obama in closer and nuzzled into his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin and feeling the President shiver.

"Easy, man," muttered Obama, patting Christie on his thigh, dangerously close to things he should not be touching at all. "Press."

"Shit." Christie's voice was hoarse. "Can we get some privacy later?"

"Ten minutes. We have to make some calls anyway. I'll give strict orders not to be disturbed for any reason. Provided you can keep your mouth shut."

"That's never been a specialty of mine."

"In times of crisis, we all discover our hidden strengths," Obama growled in his ear. 

* * *

Oh Jesus fucking Christ, Christie thought to himself as he squirmed and thrust into Obama's mouth, it's true. Men really do know exactly what they're doing down there, and this one at least had very long fingers and an _unbelievable_ tongue. Christie bit his lip to keep himself from groaning as stars flashed in front of his eyes and his orgasm slammed through him with a shudder that wracked his entire body. The next thing he was conscious of was Obama shaking him awake, phone in hand. 

"Come on, Governor. You got people to talk to."

Christie rubbed his eyes. "Shit, was I out for long?" 

"Couple of minutes," Obama said, patting his shoulder. "And you needed it. That sleep deprivation must be kicking in hard."

"Yeah. God, I must stink too. I swear I'm gonna be buried in this fucking fleece."

"It kinda suits you though. It's a _good_ fleece. The last word in disaster chic." 

"I'd let you have it, but I still need something to wear and there's no fucking way I can get into yours." 

Obama grinned and pulled the Governor into a bear hug. Christie luxuriated for a moment in his President's warm, wiry embrace before feeling an insistent poke at his belly and realizing Obama was still hard. For him. 

"Should I...you know, do you now?"

"No time. Anyway, that's not how it works. Federal government sends aid to the states, not the other way round. I'm here to give YOU what you need."

Like a punch in the gut, Christie suddenly remembered a whole lot of things that had not been uppermost in his mind.

"Ugh. Listen, about that, you know I've still got to endorse Romney, right? They'll crucify me if I don't."

Obama smiled and stroked Christie's cheek. "It's fine. If you think right now I give a damn about presidential politics, then you don't know me."

Christie beamed up at him. "I knew you'd understand."

"This is about New Jersey, Chris. It's bigger than anyone's presidential politics. Although I want it on the record that it was you - not me - who brought the subject up." Obama kissed the tip of Christie's nose.

"I shouldn't hug you at the airport either, thinking about it," Christie said sadly. 

"Nuh-uh. Handshakes yes, bro hugs no. So I should give you this last one for the road before we get out there." 

Christie knew they'd both get many more hugs that day. But he made this one count, anyway. 

* * *

"How was it, honey?"

"Terrible. Worse than you can imagine. But they're going to be OK. Whatever you think of Christie, he's been incredible on this."

"He thinks the same about you. If the boardwalks hadn't been blown away, I think he'd have taken you down there for sausage and peppers and oh my God - Barack, you're blushing! You old dog! Really?"

"Yup. Seems maybe there's more than one reason why Bush called him Big Boy. You're sure you're not mad?"

"Nuh-uh. Campaign trail rules, remember? Like Bill told Joe, 'It ain't really gay while Ohio's in play.' And I hate to say it when people are dead, but you looked _so_ presidential out there."

"My beautiful brilliant Michelle. Nobody else could ever understand me like you do."

"Come here then. I hope the big guy left something for me."

"For you, my love, always."

* * *

"Anyway, as I was saying, congratulations on your win, Mr President. I look forward to working with you some more. And seriously, thanks for everything. The FEMA stuff, and the Boss, and...put it like this, I'm not going to forget anything you've done for me these past few weeks. Not one single thing. No, I'm not crying. Enjoy your party."

Chris Christie wiped his eyes, put his phone back in his pocket, thought for a moment, pulled it out again and tapped out an email. 

"Mitt,

Sorry about the results. We should get together when things are less crazy up here. 

Chris"

 

He wouldn't send it immediately. It could wait. Christie had said a few days ago that only three people knew who he'd vote for - Romney, the President and himself. But the ballot is secret in America, and as for how he actually _had_ voted - that was between him and God. And although it would make no difference to anything at all, this one single ballot in a bright blue state, in a race where for all the people who hated the incumbent, nobody loved the challenger...he knew, he would always know, and he did not regret it.


	2. We Take Care Of Our Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very small epilogue.

It felt like a sucker punch. A kick in the teeth. A stab in the back from his own party. 

"I can't believe it, Mr President."

"I know, Chris. And I'm sorry."

"They aren't even making sense anymore."

"No. And the House majority's been like this since 2010, and I won't lie, it was pretty bad when I took office."

"See, Mr President, I know from conflict. New Jersey is bright blue, we both know that. I often disagree with congress, and the mayors and the unions, and Menendez and Lautenberg - hell, everyone. But dammit, we've got a job to do, we get together and try to get SOMETHING done. Because -"

"Because you didn't hold up your hand and solemnly promise and swear to serve the Republicans of New Jersey, right?"

"No. This - this is just -"

"Finding the light switch of leadership doesn't do much good when your roommates have cut the power, huh?"

"Ouch."

"Sorry, cheap shot."

"No, I deserved that one. But how can they screw us over like that? Over _disaster relief_ That's never been a political thing. Ever."

Christie heard Obama sigh at the other end of the phone. "Buncha screaming kids. You don't smoke, do you, Chris?"

"Nope. One bad habit's more than enough."

"You have NO idea how much I need a cigarette right now. Look, I'll talk to people and see if we can't get a deal together. And there's something you can do on your end. Are you doing a press conference about the Sandy bill today?"

"I am."

"Good." There was a smile in Obama's voice. "I have to ask you this, although I think I might know the answer - Chris, how much tact and diplomacy are you intending to employ?"

"Well, Mr President..."

"Because I think you should go full Chris Christie."

For the first time in 24 hours, Christie smiled too. 

"Full Chris Christie, huh?"

"That's what I said. Full Chris Christie. Someone has to set them straight, and you're the best man for the job. It's time for Hurricane Christie to make landfall."

"Hurricane Christie. With you."

"And I'll see who we can lean on to get this bill through. I'm all out of Jersey boys right now, so a Blue Hen will have to do. Homeboy knows how important this is to New York and New Jersey. We won't fail you, Governor. We're with you all the way."

Christie felt his eyes tearing - oh no, not again, did he ALWAYS have to cry around the fucking President? - and his voice was a little husky. 

"Thanks. It's good to know that good people got my back."

"Chris, you're not the only person around here who held up his hand and solemnly swore to serve people who didn't vote for him."

"I, uh..."

"[We take care of our own.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x0f4EQ9WpYY) From the Jersey Shore to the Superdome."

Christie's smile widened to a broad grin. 

"I should have guessed you'd know that song pretty well, Mr President."

"Chris, I believe I'm the only person outside the E Street Band who's seen it performed more times than you. Now go get ready for yelling time. Will you be wearing your fleece?"

"Nah. This is a drama situation. The fleece is for crisis situations."

"Damn. I _like_ you in that fleece."

"Sorry, Mr President?"

"Oh, nothing. Good luck."

"Thanks. Enjoy Hawaii."

"I'll try, Chris. I'll try."

 

***

 

To: Governor Chris Christie  
From: President Barack Obama 

That was awesome. We'll all keep up the pressure until you and Cuomo get what you need. 

Barack

(By the way, next time you're in DC, bring the fleece.)

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. I don't like Christie's politics at all but I saw the chemistry [here](http://www.whitehouse.gov/blog/2012/11/01/president-obama-tours-storm-damage-new-jersey) and [here](http://nj.gov/governor/media/photos/2012/20121031b.shtml) and [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sy1u1c8M5uo) and it had to be written, although I'm sorry I couldn't make it any filthier. Also, I think he has a weirdly cute nose.
> 
>  
> 
> [Go donate!](http://www.redcross.org)


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